Drabble Sets
by Once Upon a Faerytale
Summary: Prompts I fill out, to different themes, as practice for writing/characterisation/headcanons. They build up, so why not post them?


**A/N:** What am I doing? I have an actual fic to write. :( I'm working on Thorns, I just had to take some MS-induced time out to write something that didn't need plot. So here's a set of ten drabble prompts. Theme's "people who've never had a POV before (and Mara)", set during and before the books, in no particular order. It'll be updated once I get my next set of ten done. Y'know, whenever.

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**2am**

Ben pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, resisting the urge to ease the fatigue with his ability. The figure that he sat beside, swaddled in layer upon layer of woollen blanket, tossed restlessly. He extended a tendril of magic to feel the extent of her fever, body slumping when he registered her temperature had finally dropped. He reached forward, wiping away the sweat that had gathered on her brow. "Come on, Tali. I'll teach you to make the poultices when you've recovered." Tali twisted her head away at the gentle touch, resistant to support even in sleep.

**Winter**

The barn doors shook, the snarling storm sending flurries of snowflakes skittering between the boards. Damien took no notice of them, but continued to scrub vigorously, the foal all spindly limbs and congested whinnies. Its mother stood by, brown eyes worried. Ice still clung to her eyelashes, and she took no notice of the horse-breeder's half-hearted mutterings. "Don't know why you'd choose to birth this one _now_, lass. Wait for the grass to turn green next time." The foal, all of a week old, shook off the blanket and surged to his feet, stumbling on trembling legs to his mother.

**Water**

Even before her ability manifested, Mara had had a healthy respect for the elements. It had just intensified after she fell through the ice. She stared in dismay at the half-collapsed bridge that forded the shallow stream. Behind her, Firefly lipped at her shoulder, sensing her distress. Shaking off her unreasonable worry, Mara led the mare around the rotten palings, using the protruding rocks to cross the stream. She pretended she was back with her brother, playing games. The splish-splash as Phoenix followed soothed her, but she still wrapped her arms securely around the mare's neck on the other side.

**Walk Away**

"Hey _Melry_, I've got a sword you can play with!" _In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3._ Step, and pivot. _Clack_.

"You can keep you butter knife, Leo." A wave of appreciative jeers sounded from the fence behind her, but she paid them no mind. A muffled thump, of something heavy hitting earth.

"What's you say, greenie brat?" Slide, and _flick_. Her opponent lost with good grace, shaking her hand with a rueful grin. She span around.

"_Green Rider_ brat, thank you."

"Oh, I'll give you a ride." _Walk away, Mel._ Shoulder grab – turn with the pull, thumb out, and _thunk_!

**Summer**

The breeze was warm and gentle, the forest chatter soothing. She leaned into the shadowed embrace of the trees, eyes sweeping the road. It was the main thoroughfare through Sacoridia, and the path bore deep wheel-ruts from centuries of use. She remembered when this stretch of road was no more than a dirt track through the Green Cloak.

Moonlight eyes caught the too-careful clenching of fists, bandaged palms, and she melted back, unseen, to report the group of Second Imperials to her commander. Her blood raced. The steel dance was always the most enjoyable when performed under the summer sun.

**Restless**

Arms Master Gresia said his sword work was improving every day, but that did not appease Fergal. He ran through sequences and counter-moves in his head during Rides, inventing rogues and bandits he would cut through to reach a demonstratively grateful damsel, but the brutes and new recruits in the practice ring did not inspire the same romanticism. He _itched_ to move, to be active, but any messages were water to an alcoholic. As much constant stress as Karigan seemed to be under, he would still trade _that_ for his single taste of Adventure. He hoped she came back soon.

**Promise**

"I give my life to the service of King and Country. May my sword turn to rust and my bones turn to dust before I abandon my post. This I, Fastion, so do swear." Fastion finished speaking, surprisingly short of breath.

"Stand, Brother, and take your place amongst us." Devon grasped his hands and raised him to his feet to much hand-clapping and foot-stamping, formality forgotten. In a daze, Fastion accepted a mug of beer, glowing under the congratulations of his Brothers and Sisters. He swore again, silently this time, to faithfully serve the King and all who followed him.

**Subtle**

Big brother. Class clown. Shoulder to lean on. He would be all these things for her, and more. Even in Blackveil's gloom, she _shone_ with a blinding brilliance to rival the captured moonbeam she held, fingers caressing the smooth crystal. His attention was caught and held by the hand she absently ran through her hair, fingers twining in the loose braid as she talked with Graelalea. He jumped and swore when Lynx unexpectedly settled on his haunches beside him. The rarely-seen Rider glanced from Karigan to him, one eyebrow raised. Yates only smiled and shrugged. Really, could he be blamed?

**Elephant**

Donal sighed, rolling his eyes in the shadows formed by the open door. His monarch's familiar voice rang clear from the balcony; unknowingly talking to the one person he had most wished to see. He'd noticed the King eyeballing each of the female quests, identifying and dismissing. Fastion subtly twitched his hand towards the door handle, expression rebellious. Donal reigned in all traces of amusement he felt. It would do the pair a world of good if he wedged the doors closed and… let the King's approaching fiancé through. Donal ignored the frankly _childish_ exasperationon Fastion's face. Completely unprofessional.

**Broken**

Tegan shuddered as another sheet of raindrops lashed against the Rider Barracks, very much _not _what her brooch had told her. She had never been wrong before, had saved her own life with her ability. Why wasn't it working now? And poor Garth. The sudden squall hadn't yet hit when she gave her prediction, and now he was out in the muck with inadequate clothing, all because of her _stupid _advice. She wondered if it was really the brooch, or if the problem was with herself. Whatever than answer, Tegan knew the one constant in her life was now gone.


End file.
